What Commitment Is
by DustyDreams
Summary: Danny and Martin deal with the aftermath of the attack.


What Commitment Is

Disclaimer: This may surprise some of you, but I don't own Without a Trace.

Author's Note: Just when you thought it would never come: the sequel to What Love Is. Yes, it took two years, but it really happened! I'm so excited! However, while I usually write out my entire story before publishing anything, I've only just begun the second chapter to this, so I might have to go plot bunny hunting in between updates.

Chapter One: Okay

Eyewitness: Danny Taylor

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Something is wrong.

Something is terribly wrong. I can feel it.

Pain. Fear. Something is happening.

Martin!

I look to the area on the bed next to me and find it empty. The sheets are cold.

No.

"Martin?" I call out to him. There is no reply.

He's hurt somewhere. I can feel it.

I throw off my comforter and step on to the cold floor – I have to find him.

The shower is running.

I open the bathroom door, but there's no one inside.

The kitchen. I have to check the kitchen.

The oven is on. I can feel the heat emanating from it before I even enter the room. There's no Martin baking with it. I still haven't found him.

He needs me. I can feel it.

I am four feet away from the living room. I know he's in there, but I can't go in there. What I'm about to see is too horrible.

I don't want to go.

But I have to.

He needs me.

I take the final steps.

Martin is on the couch. His eyes are wide with horror. A dark figure is above him, inside of him, making him scream.

"Martin!" It comes out as only a whisper in the darkness of my bedroom.

My bedroom. I'm sitting up in my bed, out of breath, damp sheets sticking to my skin.

Oh, thank god, it was only a dream.

Except, it wasn't just a sick joke of my subconscious; Martin really was -

Where is Martin? Oh, no, not again.

No, he's fine. I'm just still paranoid from my dream. Martin is fine.

I don't even bother checking the rest of the apartment. I know where he is.

This time, he's alone on the couch. There's no dark figure…hurting him.

He seems calm, even as the TV paints pictures of light and color across his face. He's in a trance, so much so I don't think he noticed my presence.

I make to leave when his voice stops me.

"Want to watch with me?"

I smile. He wants my company. "Sure. What are we watching?"

"Cartoons."

And, I would not have guessed that.

I sit on the cushions behind him, leaning back against the armrest to ensure I'm not too close.

Martin turns to look at me, then leans toward me, resting his head on my chest as he faces the TV again.

This is a good sign, isn't it? He's reaching out to me. He's not afraid to be touched. I remember many sexual assault victims who shied away -

I can't do that. I can't think of Martin as a victim. He's the man I've worked side-by-side with for years, who walks home in Italian leather shoes, whose outfits never quite work, who speaks Spanish like a Gringo, who got himself off a drug addiction…He's Martin.

Movement rips me from my thoughts. Martin adjusts his position, tucking his head just below my chin.

I wrap my arms around his stomach and hold him against me, "So, what are we doing out here?"

"W-When…" he hesitates. I'm not pressing. Just when I think that is all the answer I'm going to get, he attempts again, "When I woke up, I was scared."

That's an admission I never thought I'd hear from this man. I immediately want to reassure him, "Martin, this is going to take time –"

"I was scared of you, Danny."

My heart drops. He was scared of me? What did I do?

He continues, "When I woke up, I could just vaguely remember what had happened to me, and suddenly someone was with me, in the dark, and I was scared, but it was you, and-" Martin gets himself worked up and ends when his breath runs out.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'll never hurt you, you're okay."

His response is a pained whisper, "I'm so sorry, Danny."

"You don't have to be so-"

"I was afraid of you."

"You're going to get scared. Anyone would. I'm not taking this personally. Hey, look at me?"

Martin twists his neck to meet my eyes. His are filled with pure guilt.

"Martin, I'm not taking this personally. It's okay. You'd just woken up, you remembered being attacked, someone was there…this isn't ridiculous."

Martin's eyes cast downward, "I hit you."

"Seriously?!" That is a respectable reflex.

Martin's nod shows he's not quite as impressed.

"I didn't even wake up." It couldn't have been that hard.

"It might have been your pillow."

That undoes me. I'm laughing so hard tears are streaming down my cheeks. The shaking of the figure above me tells me Martin is, as well.

"I felt so bad about it!" he shouts in a mixture of annoyance and humor.

"Well, let's just call this one a freebie."

Martin chuckles a few more times as he shakes his head back and forth. I'm glad that's settled. He's carrying enough without feeling guilty for attacking…my pillow.

The mood suddenly changes as he buries his face in my neck. "Thank you," he says, and I can feel his whole heart behind the words.

I rub his back soothingly, "Of course." I don't know what I mean by that, but I think my message of support gets across. We stay like that for a few minutes, until he finally turns back to the TV, snuggling into my chest once again.

Goofy explosion sound effects catch my attention. On the TV, Wile E. Coyote is blackened and crispy, a detonator in his hand: another failed attempt to capture Road Runner.

"So, you decided to come out here and watch cartoons?" I ask.

Martin nods against me. When he speaks, his voice is low and seems far away, "When I was a kid, I used to love cartoons. I really got lost in them, for hours. Everything always worked out, you know? The coyote never caught the roadrunner, Bugs Bunny always beat his hunters, and no matter what they got themselves into, no one ever died. I could count on that. It didn't matter if school was hard or my dad was disappointed in me. Everything was okay."

I kiss the soft hair atop his head. I understand what he needs, what he's hoping for right now. I'm going to do my best to ensure he gets it.

In the dim light of the TV, I hold him just a little bit closer, "Everything is going to be okay, Martin. It's all going to be okay.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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